


Bitter, Then Sweet

by kampix



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Aziraphale Has a Penis (Good Omens), Bottom Crowley (Good Omens), Cock Warming, Crowley has whatever you prefer, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, M/M, Oral sex mention, Other, Penetrative Sex, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Top Aziraphale (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-02
Updated: 2020-10-02
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:08:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26779369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kampix/pseuds/kampix
Summary: Aziraphale stays, kneeling on the bed between his thighs, fingers splayed over bony hips, arms brushing the top of the legs Crowley’s wrapped tightly around him. It’s so much and not enough. Crowley wants to touch him, to hold him, to have him even closer; he wants it so badly it almost hurts.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 14
Kudos: 99
Collections: Spice Rack





	Bitter, Then Sweet

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the lovely people of Ace Omens and based on the prompt: chocolate  
> (the story goes: white, dark, then milk)

Crowley’s hands grip the bed sheets near his head, his nails sharp points that threaten to rip the fabric. He can’t quite control himself, not when Aziraphale is pushing inside him, eyes closed and face flushed, brows furrowed, and the most endearing noises tumbling over his lips. Crowley doesn’t need Aziraphale’s gaze trained on him to know that he’s seen, that he’s all his angel is thinking about and something inside him burns hotly at the thought. After a long moment the angel’s hips press flush against the back of his thighs, Aziraphale’s fingers digging into his sides and Crowley groans at the feeling of it all. He’s spread open and held fast and he wants nothing more than to be kept there as long as he possibly can. He hooks his legs around Aziraphale’s back, drawing him even closer. Everything is soft and warm and it leaves him feeling cracked open, strangely vulnerable. He finds himself gasping at the intensity of it.

"What do you need, my love?" Aziraphale’s eyes are now open, trained on him. He fights the urge to close his own, afraid for a moment they might give everything away.

"Don't— don't move. Not yet. Want you to stay in me a bit longer, just like this."

Aziraphale stays, kneeling on the bed between his thighs, fingers splayed over bony hips, arms brushing the top of the legs Crowley’s wrapped tightly around him. It’s so much and not enough. Crowley wants to touch him, to hold him, to have him even closer; he wants it so badly it almost hurts.

"Angel, you're too far.” It comes out as a whine, but somehow he couldn’t care less. “Come closer. I wanna touch you."

Aziraphale smiles at him, amused, one of his thumbs tracing small circles on Crowley’s skin. "And here I thought I was quite close already. Must have been a trick of the lights."

"Shuddup and come here."

Aziraphale lowers himself, sliding one arm under Crowley's back, the other coming to rest on the side of his face. Crowley hums at the change in angle and returns the embrace while the angel presses soft kisses along the side of his jaw.

He pants into Aziraphale's shoulder, eyes closed, relishing in the comforting weight of the angel laid on top of him and pressed deep inside. He's safe in the dark, protected and held. After a moment he realizes he's started whispering in the crook of Aziraphale's neck.

"S'cozy. Don't really want you to move. Would mean I have to let go a bit." He draws in a breath, his words getting even quieter. “I— sometimes I worry, you know. That... you'll be gone again if I let go..."

Something in the room shifts suddenly, ripping away the blanket of calm and contentment that had been unknowingly wrapped around him. Crowley's eyes blink wide open. Unbidden, the universe stops. 

It's dark. The side of his face is cold and he shivers. He feels unbearably empty. His arms hold on tighter but there's nothing there. Aziraphale isn't there.

"Where— angel?"

He's alone, the bed much bigger than it had seemed moments ago. Darkness stretches outwards. It felt intimate with Aziraphale. It's suffocating now, heavy.

"Aziraphale? Aziraphale! Please! I don't want this. Aziraphale?"

Crowley startles awake with a gasp, breathing erratic.

"Crowley?" a soft voice finally answers.

He notices the weight of a warm hand on his shoulder.

Aziraphale.

"Are you alright my dear?" Aziraphale's hand gently squeezes Crowley's shoulder. The feeling grounds him and he desperately clings to it. "You looked like you were having a good dream at first, but then you started sounding scared and I became worried."

"I— I'm fine," he chokes out. "S’fine."

"Here, why don't you come closer and rest your head on me?"

He hates how raw he still feels, how Aziraphale's words tug at him. "I said I'm fine, angel. Not the first time I've had a nightmare."

He can feel Aziraphale’s stare on his skin. It's kind, and oh so careful, and he doesn't dare return it.

"Indulge me then. Please. I would feel better if you do."

"Fine." He knows he's being manipulated; Aziraphale has never been all that good at subtlety. But they both know he doesn't have to, where Crowley is concerned.

Crowley rolls over on the bed, kicking the sheets away and dragging himself sideways. He lays his head in Aziraphale's lap, face towards the angel's stomach, curled up on his side, feet resting on his own pillow. 

Aziraphale discards the book he'd been holding on a nightstand and sinks his fingers in Crowley's hair, caressing it and gently scratching at the short strands on his nape. Crowley keeps his eyes firmly open, staring at the cream fabric of Aziraphale's pyjamas.

He nudges his head closer, pressing his face into aziraphale's stomach, who doesn't quite manage to stifle a small gasp at the touch. The hand in Crowley's hair stills for a brief moment, but quickly resumes its soothing motion. Momentarily distracted and curious of the noise, Crowley inches even closer, nuzzling Aziraphale's soft middle, fingers digging into his plush thigh ever so slightly. There is no sound this time, but the hand halts again.

"Angel... Are you hard right now?"

Aziraphale clears his throat. "Well, I did mention you seemed like you were having a good dream at first." He pauses, considering his words, then adds, "I may have been busy considering hypothetical scenarios. I didn't think it was a good time to tell you."

The temptation to keep steering the conversation safely away from him is perfectly in reach and Crowley takes it. "Want me to do something about it?"

Before Aziraphale can answer, Crowley goes to sit upright. His attempt is promptly thwarted by a hand coming to rest on his shoulder at the first sign of movement. He freezes at the touch.

"Is this really what you need right now, Crowley?"

It isn't truly a question, but Aziraphale would let him answer 'yes'. Let Crowley take him deep in his throat until there's nothing else to think about or feel. Let him feel useful and needed and pretend that this crushing, gnawing feeling inside that makes him feel so small and fragile is nothing at all.

...But Aziraphale is asking.

"...No." Crowley finds himself saying, the word small, clipped, as if waiting to be swallowed back.

"Tell me, darling." It's a demand and a permission all at once; be not afraid.

"Just... just keep holding me. Please. And can you— can you tell me you'll stay, here, with me?"

"My sweet boy, of course I'll stay. As long as you want."

"What…" The words are stuck in Crowley's throat. He tries again. "What if I want you to stay forever?"

"In this bed?" Aziraphale says, then keeps going, as if Crowley's train of thoughts hadn't just screeched to a halt with the unexpected answer. "I'll need more books then. I only have enough for two, maybe three hours of reading at most I'm afraid. Oh, and I’ll need more tea; that new Darjeeling blend you’ve brought me. And perhaps some shortbread."

Crowley can't help the smile that tugs at his lips. "I meant in general, you daft angel. Not 'here' here."

"Yes, I know," Aziraphale says, patting his head lightly.

"I know you know," Crowley mumbles into Aziraphale's thigh.

"And how fortunate I am to have such a perceptive serpent." Aziraphale takes Crowley's free hand, raising it gently to press a kiss on the knuckles, before laying it back down against Crowley's side. "Now, will you be going back to sleep or should I read to you?"

"Read to me, please."

"Of course, my dear."


End file.
